This past week I was invited to attend a conversation and action meeting with local clergy. I was not looking forward to the meeting. In fact, I almost did not go to the meeting. We were going to be talking about a controversial topic, and based on the invitation, I knew I would be on the opposing side. What I did not know was whether I would be the only voice of opposition, which made the meeting all the more scary. The thing is, I have been in those types of conversations before – where two interpretations of Holy Scripture seem diametrically opposed, and one or both parties feel so passionate about their understanding that they say really nasty, awful things to one another. The very validity of one’s faith can even be questioned.

So I began to do what we always do in those situations. First, I thought I could just send an email. Then I thought that maybe I could just not attend the meeting, and engage in oppositional advocacy instead. I even thought not going might be a valid form of protest. But the Holy Spirit, and a few good friends, had other things to say. They were not going to let me skip this meeting. And so I went, rehearsing in my head the biblical roots and theology behind my positions. I put on my New York tough exterior, bracing myself for whatever was thrown at me. And just in case, I made sure to wear my best outfit and a smile so as to throw people off their game. But my stomach was still in knots as I opened the door – full of what-ifs, worrying about consequences, and feeling extremely vulnerable.

A little over two thousand years ago, a woman – an outcast among her own people, getting water alone at midday, encounters a man at Jacob’s well. He, a Jew with sociopolitical power, asks her for water. She has a choice. She can walk away. But she engages in a conversation between unequals. At first, Jesus tells her some extraordinary things – about thirst and living water, about his own powers, about his identity. But then the conversation shifts. Jesus exposes her vulnerability to its core. Not only is this a woman with power differential, this woman is an outcast in her culture. She is a double outsider, having had five husbands and living with a man who is not her husband. Now, Jesus does not point out this reality as a way of telling her she is sinful – in fact, Jesus says nothing about sin.[i] Scholars seem to think her marital history would have nothing to do with her sinfulness either. It could have been that she was a multiple-time widow, passed down through levirate marriage, or it could be that she was barren, and multiple husbands abandoned her.[ii] We do not know. But we do know how we feel when someone exposes our deepest places of insecurity and self-doubt. And this is the woman’s second opportunity to walk away.

But she stays. I imagine she squares her shoulders, swallows a hard gulp, takes in a deep breath, and keeps talking. And so does Jesus. Ever so gently, they engage in a pretty hefty conversation, about prophesy, proper worship, the Messiah, and identity. Not bad for a Jewish male and a Samaritan woman in broad daylight, for everyone to see.

At my meeting this week, a curious thing happened. We read scripture together. We prayed together. And we talked – sharing openly about our own theologies and biblical interpretations. But also, we listened – listened for commonality, listened for God’s guidance, and listened in respectful disagreement. The conversation did not go at all how I expected. The responses were not what I expected. My own spirit was not at all in the place I expected my spirit to be in the end.

There is a lot going on in the story between Jesus and the Samaritan woman – probably enough for multiple sermons. But today, in light of my experience this week, and in light of our country’s currently political climate, I am mostly drawn to the power of conversation. Biblical scholar Karoline Lewis argues, “…frequently overlooked is that this interaction is a conversation. Jesus suggests that conversation matters for theology. That conversation is essential for faith.” She goes on to say, “The church can be the place that shows society what theological conversation can sound like. The church can be the place that demonstrates how dialogue about faith and the Bible might result in religious respect and tolerance.”[iii]

So how do we do that? Lewis proposes a method based on the interaction between Jesus and the Samaritan woman. She gleans five key elements of holy conversation. First, holy conversations begin with mutual vulnerability. Jesus is thirsty, and the Samaritan woman needs the living water he provides. Truthful conversations begin with reciprocal vulnerability because that is at the heart of God. Second, questions are critical to holy conversations. Of course, these cannot be questions for which we already have answers – these are true, curious questions. The woman’s questions lead Jesus to reveal his identity. God wants us to ask questions because they strengthen relationship. Third, holy conversations involving intentional, genuine interest in the other take time. The sheer length of the gospel text today tells you that this was not a quick conversation on the way to coffee hour. But over the course of the long conversation, misunderstandings are clarified, lives reformed, and God’s abundant love is revealed. Fourth, when we are talking about conversations with Jesus, be prepared to be surprised. The woman at the well receives the first I AM statement in John’s gospel – Jesus reveals himself not to an insider, but to an outsider! Finally, expect to be changed in holy conversations. As Lewis says, “The woman at the well goes from shamed to witness. From dismissed to disciple. From alone to being a sheep of Jesus’ own fold.”[iv] So holy conversations involve mutual vulnerability, questions, time, surprise, and change.

This week, no one gathered changed their minds on the presenting issue. I doubt we ever will. But something else did happen. Through our conversation, something holy emerged. Two groups, opposed to each other, were able to stay in the room, were able to articulate their own theologies, and were able to see Christ in the other. What I took from that meeting was that maybe, just maybe, there is hope for us after all. Maybe the church can do what the church has needed to do for some time – model what holy, Christ-like conversations look like for the good of the community. Now, that does not mean holy conversations are easy. Though I stayed in my seat, there were certainly times I wanted to get up and leave. Though they were subtle, there were several clear digs at my ability to interpret scripture and the will of God. There were several arguments that I disagreed with and had to bite my tongue to maintain the openness of the conversation. But as I left the meeting, I knew something holy had happened. Glimpses of the kingdom of God were breaking into that room.

Our invitation this week is to look around our own lives and examine where we have been avoiding holy conversations: those times when we have run when someone pointed out the brokenness of our lives; when we have made quick judgments and assumptions about others without ever taking the time to ask the curious questions; when we have cut off opportunities for connection without remembering the surprise and change at the end. The promises are tremendous. Look at the healing the woman at the well receives – not just the lifting of societal shaming, but a position of power as a witness and disciple of Christ. Look at the affirmation the woman receives – not only does Jesus validate her through an engaging, respectful conversation, the whole town responds to her without question. Look at how the commitment to stay in the conversation leads the woman to a place of deep transformation and change. But also look at how Jesus is changed too – he finds a surprisingly worthy partner in ministry, to whom he can confess his deepest identity. I am not saying holy conversations will ever be easy. In fact, sometimes the rejection we experience from attempts at those conversations will linger for a long time. But when we keep putting ourselves out there, keep listening for those opportunities for holy conversation, the rewards are tremendously life giving. The well is waiting for you! Amen.

Last week, I received an email directed to local pastors from a fellow pastor. He wanted to draw our attention to the fact that the local elementary schools would be hosting an author whose most recent book features a family with two gay dads. He was upset that the author had been invited and upset that the school board and principals had not been more upfront about the invitation to the author to parents and the community. His email was an invitation for the clergy to come together to discuss what we might be able to do to voice our protest.

There were several things that alarmed me in the communication. First, as a pastor and parent, not only am I not opposed to the author coming, I am quite pleased that a non-heteronormative story is being featured in our schools. Second, and more importantly, I was concerned about a group of clergy gathering to present to the community the voice of the clergy – as though we are all of one mind. At first I thought I would email the pastor, and then I thought I should email the schools and board. But then I realized, no email or letter could fully express my concerns, and that kind of one-sided communication often leads to misunderstanding and assumptions. And so, I decided to go.

I did not make that decision lightly. I have many friends and family members who have a very different interpretation of the Bible and the issue of sexuality than me. I have engaged in some deeply hurtful conversations around those topics, and knew I could be walking into a lion’s den going to the meeting. But I kept thinking of my goddaughter, raised by two incredibly loving men, who have created a home that is a shining example of Christ’s commandment to love God and neighbor. And so, I went.

I suspected we were heading for trouble as I listened to people talking before the meeting about how Christian morals are being corrupted by the world. But when the meeting started, things shifted. The inviting pastor opened with scripture, and then asked us to pray for God’s guidance and for each member of the School Board. Out of those prayers came the same words I always use when talking about the wideness of God’s love: inclusivity, love, transformation, loving neighbor as self, being a witness to Christ’s love. I was fascinated to see how two opposing opinions could be rooted in the same biblical text and the witness of Christ Jesus. After our enlightening time of prayer, people began to speak. Some of the concerns were quite legitimate: a lack of transparency from the schools and board, a lack of intentional engagement with the parents around the choice of the author, and a lack of clarity around why the decision was made.

Of course, where we differed was in the result we desired. I braced myself and shared with the group why I was there. Much to my surprise, no one freaked out, no one condemned me for my different perspective, and no one shut down. Most of the other pastors and lay leaders were quite clear that they believe that scripture should be interpreted differently than I do, but there was no hate or malice. We even learned that another pastor in the room shared my viewpoint.

What I came away with from the meeting was a sense of hope. I have never seen such civility, such Christ-like conversation, as I saw that day. I have rarely seen people of radically different opinions be able to stay at the table without walking away. We did not change each other’s minds, but we also did not denigrate or disrespect one another. Suddenly it hit me: if we could take that kind of civil, Christ-like engagement out into the world, that would be a much more powerful witness of Christ’s love than pastors simply telling people to love each other without actually doing it. I could even envision the two groups peacefully gathered at a School Board meeting, calmly presenting our opposing views; not witnesses to whether or not an author should be invited into the schools, but witnesses to what holy conflict and conversation look like. It was a beautiful image, and a wonderful counter to our current political climate.

Now, I do not know if that image will ever come to fruition. I do not know if the relationship-building we discussed will ever materialize. But if nothing else, the meeting taught me that there is hope. There is hope that God can work in the midst of conflict and disagreement and transform it into something sacred. There is hope that we as a people can engage with one another respectfully despite our differences. There is hope that Christ can do infinitely more than we can ask or imagine.

I grew up in a house without conflict. No one ever fought, no one ever yelled, and certainly, no one ever hit. There may have been disagreements, but they were quickly resolved and our house was restored to peace. Given that was my experience growing up, I assumed all family handled conflict in hushed, quiet ways. But then I visited a friend who taught me differently. I was staying with her family for a few days, and on a car ride to dinner, her mother and father started arguing and were quickly yelling at each other in the front seat. My eyes bulged and my whole body tensed up. I immediately thought, “This is the most horrible thing I have ever seen!” I surreptitiously glanced at my friend to see if she was equally horrified, but she just sat there like it was an everyday occurrence. But even more strange than the fight was how the family acted later. There was a bit of quiet after the yelling, but by the time we stopped for dinner, everyone was back to normal. I, however, could not manage to release the tension in my body, and my mind was racing. Are they okay? Is this normal? Will it happen again? How do I act now?

I remember after that visit feeling relieved and almost proud. Clearly my family had the better conflict management system. Clearly we were more in control of our emotions and cared for each other with tenderness and love. I let myself believe that lie until my parent’s divorce. My entire world view about conflict and family and love came apart. Suddenly my quiet house was not simply quiet. My quiet house was a conflict avoidant house. The lack of yelling in my house was not simply a lack of yelling, but was a stuffing of hurt and pain for the sake of pretend peace. Now, do not get me wrong. I am not suggested that you all go home and yell at your loved ones. What I am saying is that no matter what your experience of conflict has been – avoidance, dramatic confrontation, reasoned discussion through disagreement – we have all experienced conflict in our family.

All that is to say that nothing Jesus says about families should be shocking today. Most of us like the loving, caring, gentle Jesus the best. We like Jesus being hailed as the Prince of Peace, not hearing Jesus say, “Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division!”[i] That is not the version of Jesus we come to hear about on Sundays. That is not the version of Jesus we want to read about when our best friend is mad at us, our brother won’t talk to us, or our spouse is thinking about leaving. That is not the version of Jesus we want the preacher talking about on the Sunday we decided to bring our friend to church.

And normally, I would be right there with you in protest. I like the Prince of Peace who cares for the poor and downtrodden. I love the Jesus who tells me not to be afraid and not to worry, especially when the lilies of the field are so well tended by God. I adore the Jesus who forgives and unites all kinds of people into one. But all of my protest comes from being someone who used to be pretty conflict avoidant. That is, until I learned another way. I will always say that one of the greatest gifts of my time on Long Island was learning how to not only handle conflict, but to really appreciate conflict for all that conflict can do.

For those of you not familiar with the cultural dynamic of Long Island, several things are at play. First, Long Islanders have a different way of communicating. They are direct, incisive, and honest. For a Southerner, their style of communication can feel rude, but over time, said Southerner realizes that all that directness and ability to dive into conflict means you get everything out on the table. There is no listening for innuendo or passive aggressiveness. There are no cute phrases that sound nice, but really mean something entirely different. Instead, you know where people stand, and you go home quite clear about the varying viewpoints. Of course, that style of communication does not always feel good. If you have sensitive feelings about criticism, your feelings can and will get hurt. If you get uncomfortable with heated arguments, you will be challenged to stay calm. If you prefer niceness over brutal honesty – well, you probably should not live on Long Island.

But here is what I learned and came to love about the beautiful people of Long Island. They taught me how to listen, even if all I wanted to do was flee the room. They taught me how to sit through criticism instead of getting defensive. They taught me how to see conflict not as the ultimate evil, but instead as a critical key to transformation, reconciliation, and restoration.

That is at the heart of Jesus’ message today. Of course Jesus says that he is going to divide fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, and in-laws against one another. What Jesus is teaching about is a radical reordering of the world.[ii] We heard that proclamation from his mother’s mouth as she sang out the words of the Magnificat earlier in Luke’s gospel, “He has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty.”[iii] Mary was not just talking about the enemy Rome. Many of the Israelites themselves were proud, powerful, and rich. We in the modern world are the proud, powerful, and rich. And to us, Jesus shouts, “Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division!”

The good news is that Jesus is not telling us he wants us to fight. He is not encouraging violence or abuse, or even neglect or pain. Jesus is simply telling us that his message is going to upset the status quo. And as people who benefit from the status quo, we are going to have to face our demons and look at our brothers and sisters who are in need and take real stock of ourselves and our lives. And when we start upsetting the status quo – when we start making women equal to men, when we start treating minorities with dignity and respect, when we start empowering the poor thrive and turn their lives around, we will have friends and family who push back. We will have people who try to convince us to protect our power rather than share our power. We will have family who walk away because they cannot face the truth. All we have to do is look at the church – look at the hundreds of denominations who could not agree on whom could be baptized, what Eucharist means, and whom can be ordained or married. We are a family divided because Jesus’ love is so revolutionary that we will be divided about how to define his love, how to share his love, and how receive his love. Jesus does not want us to fight. But he knows that if we are going to authentically live into the Gospel life, we are going to deal with conflict and we are going to be divided.[iv]

But that is also why Jesus went all the way to the cross. His death was an effort to transform and redeem our conflict and to help us live fully into the people of peace and love we are invited to be in him. Jesus knows that we will have to fight. But he also knows that if we are willing to enter into conflict with an open mind, with listening ears, and a discerning heart, we will become a people who do not avoid conflict, but understand conflict as the purifying fire that burns away the mess of life and leaves behind the fertile ground for creating something new and holy.[v] So yes, Jesus is still the Prince of Peace, who brings peace upon earth. But the path there is not a smooth, straight, simple path. The path there will take us through conflict, tension, and pain. But the peace that awaits on the other side is more glorious than any community that will sit through passive aggressive avoidance just to maintain a false sense of security.

And just in case you are already feeling weary, wondering where you can muster the strength to survive such a rocky path, our letter to the Hebrews today gives us a clue, “Since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus the pioneer and perfecter of our faith…”[vi] That group of people you are going to be in conflict with – whether your biological family, or the crazy family you selected as your church home – is the same group of people who have left us an example of how to work our way through conflict. They have shown us how to survive the race toward peace and reconciliation, reminding us that Jesus is the pioneer and perfecter who gets us there. We will not get there avoiding conflict. But we will get there together, holding hands when we disagree, loving each other when we say helpful but painful truths, and rejoicing when we push through to the side of reconciliation, renewal, and rebirth. Amen.